Authors: Margot Dalton
“Why aren’t you in school?”
“We’re hosting a visiting football team. No classes this afternoon.”
“Didn’t you want to stay at school and watch the game?”
She reached for another sheet. Jon moved over automatically and took the other end of the wet fabric, holding it clear of the grass while Vanessa fastened it in place.
“I wouldn’t have minded watching the game,” she said, taking another peg from her mouth, “but I wanted to come home and talk with Priscilla’s dad.”
“You mean George Rathburn, next door?”
Vanessa nodded. “Priscilla says he needs somebody to work in their stable for three or four hours a day, cleaning stalls and exercising horses. And he’s willing to pay almost ten dollars an hour for somebody who’s a good, reliable worker.”
Jon’s mind reeled. “You’re…Van, are you telling me you plan to clean
stalls?
”
She looked at him in astonishment, then burst into laughter.
“Not
me
, Daddy. I thought this job would be totally perfect for Enrique. He wants to work and help pay his way, but it’s so hard for him to have a job and try to look after himself in the city. This way, he could keep living here, work right next door and pay you a fair amount for his room and board. Mr. Rathburn already said he thinks it’s’s a good idea.”
Jon considered, nodding thoughtfully. “He’s right, it’s a terrific idea, and just great for Enrique. Good for you, Van.”
Her cheeks warmed at his praise and she began to rummage hastily in the laundry basket.
“Van,” he said, moving closer, “what’s happened? You seem so different.”
She looked up, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. “Do you…do you love me, Daddy?” she asked in a trembling voice.
He stared at her, shocked by her words. “Sweetheart…of course I love you.”
“You don’t think…” She kicked nervously at a tuft of grass beneath the clothesline. “You don’t think I’m too much like my mother? You’re always saying how much I look like her.”
His heart twisted with pain. “Oh, Van…”
“I was so afraid of turning out like her. I think there was a point when I made a decision to quit fighting and let it happen. I’d try to be as totally like her as I could, just so I wouldn’t have to be afraid
anymore. Like, it was inevitable, so I might as well go ahead and let it happen, you know?”
“I know, honey.” Jon took her in his arms, holding her close. “And most of your unhappiness was my fault. It’s not fair to evaluate people so lightly, and judge them by their looks. But I was hurt, too, with everything that happened to our family. I guess I was too wrapped up in my own problems to pay enough attention to the way you were feeling.”
She burrowed against him, sniffling. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Daddy,” she murmured. “It’s not your fault that she’s such a selfish person. Besides, I was doing a pretty good job of being a prize witch. No wonder you all hated me.”
“I never hated you, Van.” He hugged her tighter, stroking her hair. “I just…worried about what the future might hold for you.”
“Like when you first brought Enrique into the house and I…I looked at him and said he was… dirty,” she choked, “and you were so disgusted with me.”
Jon held her silently, remembering how appalled he’d been at his daughter’s reaction.
“That wasn’t what I was feeling at all,” Vanessa whispered. “I was really sorry for him, and embarrassed because I had so much and he didn’t have anything. But I couldn’t say anything like that because it wouldn’t have…”
She gulped and stopped talking, still nestled against his shirtfront. Jon stroked her hair tenderly, the way he’d often comforted her when she was a little girl.
“It wouldn’t have been in character,” he said. “Is that what you mean, honey? It wouldn’t have suited this hard-boiled, selfish personality you were trying to project.”
“Something like that,” she muttered.
He looked over her head at a drift of cloud in the blue arch of prairie sky.
He should have been more sensitive and observant with this girl, more alert to her feelings….
“What made you change your mind?” he asked. “Why did you finally decide to come out of your shell and be yourself again?”
“Camilla talked to me.”
He drew away, looking down at her questioningly.
Vanessa took a wad of tissue from the pocket of her jeans and wiped her eyes and cheeks, then gave him a misty smile. “Camilla told me people do all kinds of self-destructive things to deal with pain, and that there was a point in her past when she…”
“What?” Jon asked tensely when his daughter paused. “What did she say?”
Vanessa shook her head. “It’s a secret. She told me some things about herself that I’m not supposed to tell anybody. We talked a long time on Sunday morning when everybody else was outside. I told her I was afraid of being like my mother, and she told me some things about what happened to her when she was growing up.”
Jon gripped his daughter’s arm. “What kind of things?”
“Daddy, I can’t give away her secrets. I promised.
But she told me that the only way to heal the pain is to reach out. She says that’s what she did. She decided that helping people would make her feel better, and it did.”
“Helping people? How?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me, but I suppose it’s some kind of charity work. Anyway, I said I didn’t know where to start reaching out, and Camilla said I could begin with my own home.”
“Enrique?” Jon said.
Vanessa nodded. “I was afraid to talk to him at first,” she murmured, looking down again. “Because I’ve been such a jerk. But he’s…Enrique’s really nice, Dad. And the terrible things that have happened to him and his family…” Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks again.
Jon lifted the girl’s face and wiped her cheeks, then kissed her on the forehead.
“So you made friends with Enrique and now you’ve even found the perfect part-time job for him.”
“It wasn’t much. But from now on I’m going to try to help people as much as I can. I was thinking…” She blushed.
Jon looked down at her, bemused and enchanted by this beautiful daughter he’d never really met. “What were you thinking?”
“I’d like to put my name in for a volunteer job at the hospital. A candy striper, you know?”
He nodded, smiling.
“And I think I want to go into premed next year
and study to be a pediatrician. What do you think, Daddy?”
“I think,” he said huskily, “that I’m so proud of you I can hardly stand it.”
“Really, Daddy?”
“Absolutely.” Jon gathered his daughter into his arms, holding her and patting her back while bedsheets whipped on the clothesline and the autumn sun poured warmly onto their shoulders.
O
N
W
EDNESDAY
night Camilla went to the hostel early, preparing to serve a couple of long extra shifts to make up for her absence over the Thanksgiving weekend.
She took an armful of books and her ever-present folder of term papers to be marked, settled herself at the desk and got out a flask of coffee and some crackers, along with a couple of grocery sacks full of fruit. Then she went into the adjoining room to see what was happening.
Three boys in baggy jeans and ragged shirts sat along one wall, their feet splayed casually on the floor in filthy running shoes, their baseball caps turned backward on their heads. The boys seemed to be playing a game that involved tossing wads of paper at a bundle of clothes leaning against an opposite wall.
They exchanged guilty looks and stopped their game when Camilla entered the room.
“Hey, Queen,” one of the boys called. “Long time no see.”
“Hi, Zippy. Are you staying out of trouble?”
He shrugged and looked down at the floor, toying idly with the untied laces of his shoes.
Camilla regarded the boy for a moment. Then she knelt, put her hand under his chin and lifted his face, gazing directly into his eyes. He was about fifteen, with a thin, clever face and sensitive mouth. One of his eyes was swollen and surrounded by livid bruises.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, lightly touching the bruises. “When did this happen?”
He shrugged again, the expressive gesture that all the street kids used to express a variety of emotions. “A guy nailed me.”
“Why?”
“He caught me stealing from his store.”
“Why were you stealing, Zippy?”
“I was hungry. I went almost four days with nothin’ to eat, and I got a little crazy.”
“Zip got nailed for lifting a hunk of salami,” one of the boys said. “He’s the Baloney Bandit.” The others rolled around on the floor, pounding their feet and shouting with laughter. Camilla ignored them.
“Why didn’t you come here?” she asked. “We would have given you something to eat.”
“Simon kicked me out for fighting. I was on the street all weekend.”
“Oh, Zippy.” Camilla sat back on her heels and looked at him sadly. “Have you eaten now?”
“Yeah. Simon let me come by for supper. My suspension’s over now.”
“Good. Come into the office later and you can
have some fruit if you’re still hungry. I brought a lot of bananas and apples.”
Zippy’s good eye brightened. He leaned closer to Camilla and jerked a thumb toward the ragged bundle on the opposite wall. “You better check on that kid, Queen. She’s in pretty bad shape.”
For the first time, Camilla realized that the bundle of clothes was another child. She crossed the room and knelt to peel away the ragged hood, revealing a mass of golden hair.
“Hi,” she whispered to the child’s bent head. “What’s your name?”
A face looked up at her, then vanished again. Camilla caught an impression of frightened brown eyes, pale skin and a drift of freckles across a dainty nose.
“Are you a girl?” Camilla asked, taking a chance. With street kids, gender wasn’t always easy to guess.
There was a brief, almost imperceptible nod.
“What’s your name?”
The girl muttered something.
“Sorry?” Camilla bent closer. “I didn’t hear you, dear.”
“Tracy.”
She settled next to the girl and put her arm around the thin shoulders.
“So what’s happening, Tracy? I haven’t seen you around before.”
More silence, but she could feel the child’s body quivering in her embrace.
“How old are you?” Camilla asked.
“I’m twelve,” Tracy whispered.
Camilla felt a flood of weary hopelessness.
These kids were getting younger all the time. And the story was almost always the same…beatings, abuse, an intolerable home situation that forced children to run away and take their chance on the streets.
“Are you hungry?” Camilla asked.
Tracy nodded.
“Okay, come with me. I have some crackers and a lot of fruit in the office, and then maybe you can have a shower. You need to clean yourself up, dear, or you’re going to get sick.”
The little girl got to her feet obediently and faltered behind Camilla into the office. Marty was there, sitting with her feet propped up on the desk, strumming softly on Chase’s guitar.
She looked clean and happy, wearing new jeans and sneakers and a bright red pullover, her dark hair freshly washed and braided.
“Marty!” Camilla said, bending to give her a hug. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. How’s everything going?”
“Just great, Queenie. I’m working hard, even got a raise yesterday.” Proudly, the girl displayed a pair of chapped, reddened hands. “And the boss’s wife got me an interview for a job doing checkout at a grocery store. They pay really good.”
“How’s Chase?”
Marty’s face clouded. “He gets out tomorrow. I’ll know as soon as we’re together if he’s serious about staying sober.” She looked down at the floor. “I’m
scared, Queen,” she muttered. “After a taste of the straight life, I don’t want to go back to the streets.”
While Camilla talked with the older girl, she opened one of the sacks and handed a couple of bananas to Tracy, who snatched them desperately, muttering her thanks.
“This is Tracy,” Camilla told Marty. “She’s new.”
Marty wrinkled her nose and patted the child’s arm. “You stink, honey,” she said cheerfully. “You smell as bad as I did when I first came here. Come on,” she added when Tracy finished eating her fruit. “I’ll get you a towel and show you where the showers are. Maybe we can even find some clean clothes in the footlocker.”
“Thanks, Marty.” Camilla sat behind the desk again, giving the older girl a warning glance that meant “be gentle, she’s really scared.”
Marty nodded in understanding and led the ragged child from the room.
Camilla took out a pile of student assignments and began to work, but it was difficult to concentrate on essays. The image of that terrified little girl kept haunting her.
Many of these damaged waifs were far too small to survive on the streets, but unable to live in their own homes. And every one of them reminded her of herself as a child.
Camilla could hardly bear to imagine what might have happened to her if Jon Campbell hadn’t encountered her on that desperate morning and given such
gentle, loving assistance. If it had been anybody other than Jon who’d found her, Camilla’s life might have taken a completely different turn.
She owed him everything….
“Poor kid,” Marty said, coming back into the room. “She’s in the shower now, and I found her some jeans and a sweater.”
“Did she talk to you?”
“Not much. She’s not ready to talk yet. Got some nasty bruises all over her body.” Marty sank into the chair with a sigh of weariness and picked up the guitar again. “Somebody laid a whipping on her, that’s for sure.”
“Should I have a look at her? Does she need a doctor?”
Marty shook her head. “I think she needs a mommy and a daddy, but that’s not going to happen. Don’t worry, Queen. I’ll stick around and keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks, dear. So, you’re enjoying your job?”
“I
love
it.” Marty leaned forward with passionate intensity. “I love going to work every day and earning a paycheck, and buying the stuff I need without begging for it. God,” she added moodily, falling back in the chair, “I hope Chase is going to stay clean.”
“Marty…” Camilla hesitated, weighing her next words. “Your fate isn’t in his hands, you know. If Chase doesn’t want to go straight, you can still choose to keep your job and live in dignity.”